I left for the Lex Tower immediately. That's where Hope said she would be, and with her, Jesse.
"What's he doing there?"
"The police said they found him huddled up in front of the GBS building. Said he was a damn mess."
"So they…called you?" I asked in a bit of confusion.
"He had I.D. on him. Emergency contact listed was Mr. L. I don't know why, but…that's what he did."
"And Lex is home for the day?"
"He's gone to Massachusetts for the weekend."
"Alright, I'll be there shortly."
"Fine. My office is on the 73rd floor, suite 5."
When Hope disconnected and I got on my way downtown, I got a chance to sit down and think about…the day. Lex buying out the Planet. Tim and his…concern for me. And it came to me.
All this time, I've had these friends. These people who impact my life in hundreds of ways. And I never realized it. I wasn't going to sacrifice in Jesse what I spent damn good time trying to build with Lex.
But he's not your best friend, Allen. You have to know that.
Bullshit.
Is it? Does Lex really have an interest in you?
He saved me.
Did he?
In the darkened auspices of his private car—a 1937 Rolls-Royce Phantom III, Lex Luthor sat lazily in the leather-upholstered seat. He was on his way to Roxbury, Massachusetts to raise funds for the Daily Planet venture, and wanted everything to go smoothly. In order to get sufficient capital from an outside source—one other than his own pocketbook—say, that of O'Neill's untimely intervention had thrown a small wrench in the machine, but it could be easily remedied—given time. Time, however, Luthor didn't have. Things were in motion now that could not be slowed without certain things…coming to light. He'd been poring over the articles O'Neill had given him hours ago, and had come to three conclusions.
One. That Allen found these people on his own time, of his own free will, and was genuinely curious as to what connection they had to Luthor himself. If that was the case, then it had to be inferred that Allen's interest came from an outside source. Morgan Edge and his professorship at the University. He must have assigned something with Luthor's name on it; fueling the fire and making Allen's brain actually function.
Two. That someone supplied the names to Allen. Simple enough. There were two choices then: Tim Drake, the ward of Bruce Wayne, who usually accompanied Wayne on the golf course. Or Superman.
Three. That someone close to Luthor supplied the names. Unlikely, but possible.
Luthor leaned forward and spoke to his driver—Mercy Graves. He'd left Hope back in Metropolis.
"Keep an eye on O'Neill."
"Yes, Mr. L."
Luthor tapped Mercy's shoulder lightly. "Mercy. How close are we to Roxbury?"
"Twenty miles."
"Fine," Luthor said dismissively, and leaned back. He pulled his cellular phone from the inside pocket of his suit, and pressed the autodial for his secretary's desk.
"Eve."
"Yes, Mr. Luthor?" Teschmacher's voice sounded worried—overtly ethereal, for no apparent reason.
"Call Hope. Find him."
The elevator lurched upwards with sickening rapidity. My stomach rose from within the darkness of my chest cavity, and my ears popped as the altitude changed. Finally, the elevator dinged silently, and the doors slid open, releasing me onto the 73rd floor. The hall was completely darkened, except for a single beam of light emanating from one of the offices at the end of the hall. I stepped out of the elevator unsteadily, and began the slow walk down to the office—which I could only assume was Hope's.
I reached the office, knocked faintly on the open door.
"Hello?"
No answer. I peeked my head around and looked across the threshold. Two desks sat opposite each other in the middle of the room—one immaculate, the other cluttered.
"Hello?" I repeated. The office was empty.
The phone rang; a shrill metallic ringing cut through the thick silence. Hesitantly, I regarded the sleek black machine on the corner of the clean desk. It rang again, and I lowered a shaky hand to pick up the receiver.
"H-hello?" I said disjointedly.
"Allen?"
"Uh, yes, this is he."
"This is Eve Teschmacher at Mr. Luthor's office. While he's out for the weekend, he asked me to get ahold of you. I had called this line hoping to speak to Hope, but since you're here its all the better."
"Oh…well, I guess I'm lucky like that," I said, my confidence creeping back.
"Indeed," Teschmacher said. "Anyway, Mr. Luthor wanted me to inform you of Mr. Wright's situation."
"Oh?"
"Yes. He's contacted the Daily Planet and requested the resignation of Dirk Armstrong."
Silence. Odd, I thought. Very odd.
"Allen?"
"Yes. Sorry, Miss Teschmacher. My mind drifted off for a second."
"Fair enough," she replied genially.
"Thank you for the news though, Miss Teschmacher. I'll, uh, be sure to pass that on."
"Happy to help, Allen. Goodbye."
"Yeah," I said perplexedly, as she disconnected.
I lowered the receiver from my ear, and just stared at it for a few minutes. The dial tone started up o the other end, and I set it back down on the receiver. I turned and walked out of the office, glancing in both directions before heading back to the elevators.
Luthor calling for Armstrong's resignation. Teschmacher wanting to "talk to Hope" and my convenience in being in the office at that time. It just raised too many questions. I'll go to Luthor's office, I thought to myself. Maybe that's were Hope is.
The elevator stopped on the 120th floor—the top floor, and location of Luthor's office. I stepped out into a miserly, cramped foyer lit by shoddy sodium-filament lights. Ahead of me were the doors to Luthor's office. It was completely dark inside the office. Chances were, Hope and Jesse probably weren't in there. To my right was a set of earth-toned utility doors that led up to the roof. I turned to the utility door, but was stopped short by the voice of Luthor.
"There's only one thing with less than four legs that can hear this, and that's you Superman."
"What the hell?" I said aloud, turning back to Luthor's office. The voice was faint, but I was sure it was coming from Luthor's office. I pushed one of the heavy glass doors open and walked into the darkened office. Luthor's voice continued: "…in the time it takes you to find me, you could find Lois Lane."
The sound got louder as I approached the desk. I walked behind the sprawling wooden seat of power, and tracked the voice down to the floor. In the darkness, my hands fumbled around, pulling out Luthor's wheeled-chair. Finally, I came upon it. A small grey box—a tape recorder—nestled tightly against the inside of Lex's desk. Luthor's voice—a recording, I had thus deduced—stopped.
I removed the recorder from its spot on the floor, and picked it up, curiously regarding it.
"Allen."
I shot around to the window—aghast—and saw Superman hovering just beyond the glass.
"Superman," I said cryptically.
The Man of Steel, in all his theatrical glory, hovered almost motionless from the sky…like some sort of new age messiah.
I was amazed and silent.
"How…did you know my name?" I asked perplexedly.
"Super-hearing," the Man of Steel said. "Plus…I believe the last time we met was in this very office."
"Yeah," I replied sheepishly. "But…what are you…?"
"I get that a lot," Superman said with a reserved smile. "Now, if you please, go to Luthor's chair, and lift the right-side armrest. There is a button underneath that will open the windows and let me in."
I looked at the chair, then back at Superman. "How did you…?"
"If you please, Allen." He sounded stern…but congenial. Strange. I lifted the armrest like he said, found a single red button, and pressed it. The two massive panes of glass gave a brief exhale of air—like a pneumatic engine—lurched forward a few inches, then separated from each other, guided by rollers. Superman lowered himself to the floor, his arms still crossed.
"I don't get it." I asked, genuinely confounded.
"Folks don't quite know how to react when I show up."
Amazing, I thought. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was raised in a barn.
After a brief silence, Superman spoke up. "What can I do for you, Allen?"
"I was actually wondering why you're here," I asked. Superman's focus shifted from my eyes, to the grey tape recorder, which I held loosely in my hand.
"I was tracking that, Allen."
"The tape recorder?"
"Yes. A Signal coming from it, anyway. A hypersonic one—intended for my ears, and those of every dog in the city."
"Hypersonics," I said quizzically. "But then…how did I hear it?"
"The signal was the only thing hypersonic about it. Luthor's voice remained at the frequency it's always been, but amplified in a certain way, so as to be carried on a higher frequency."
"That still doesn't help me," I said, half-amused.
"Well, unless you're some kind of meta-human, Luthor probably intended for you to hear his voice, just as much as he did me."
"Fair enough," I said, allowing the matter to pass over my head."
"So what's the problem, Allen?" Superman pulled Lex's chair close to him, and sat in it. I stared puzzlingly for a brief moment, and then carried on.
"Well, I think we happened to run into each other by happenstance tonight, Superman."
The Man of Steel nodded curtly.
"But, while we're here. I wanted to talk about…"
"Luthor," Superman said darkly.
"Yes."
"All right. What about him?"
"It's weird Superman. One of my friends—"
"Jesse…"
"—Jesse. He's…missing."
"You don't know where he is?"
"No," I wheezed. "And I'm scared, Superman." A single bead of sweat streamed won my forehead. I didn't know if it was from talking with such a presence as Superman, or my fears that Jesse was…
Keep those emotions in check, Alley. Let me take over, and then you'll be like Sara. And who wants that?
"I'm scared that someone has Jesse and I don't know what they're doing to him," I said weakly, my voice cracking and waning, tears welling up.
"Give me five minutes, Allen. I can search the building to see if your friend is here." Superman stood, and made for the window.
"What about the lead?" I asked, turning back to the Man of Steel.
Turning to me slowly, Superman spoke softly. "Luthor told you about the lead, then?" I nodded slowly in response. "Don't worry," Superman said assuringly. "There's more than one way to skin a cat."
I raised a curious eyebrow as Superman lifted into the sky, heading towards the roof of the Tower.
My father saved me. Me…his only son. Who left…an entire legacy in his wake. It haunts me. I was made responsible to people I never would have met had my life not been changed. And the responsibility of a son…is not to repeat the sins of the father. My childhood was tied to the safety of the rest of the world…the rest of my world.
I could never really escape. But I could create a place—or one could be created, with the intent to save us all. My father…saved me and me alone. Because time ran out. Because it never dawned on this mind that a life's twilight could occur in the firing of a synapse. When he understood that there would be no denouement, he tried everything to salvage the remnants. Believing that my life was more important, and that the inevitable was…impossible. But…I sometimes wonder if it was. And I wonder. When I left, what did he see? His only son facing the world? Or his own failures?
"He's not here, Allen," Superman said. He had done an overview of the building, and apparently been unable to locate Jesse.
"Are you sure?"
"Pretty certain."
"How were you able to see through the lead?"
"Lead's an expensive little hobby. Even given his riches, Luthor could never afford to cover the whole building with it. I found the open spots."
"So…you…what?"
"Went to the basement and looked…up," Superman said with a slight grin.
"Heh. I shouldn't be amused, but….wow."
"It's alright. Listen, Allen. I've got some rounds to make. You're welcome to come with me."
"No," I said humbly. "I don't want to be a nuisance."
"It's no problem. I can drop you at the University, or the Planet, or wherever you like."
"I'll be alright, Superman," I said with a reserved smile. "I know my way home."
Next: The Power to End It! (?)
Author's Note: The italicised inner monologue of Allen (or is it Superman?...you be the judge:) ) is from the recent issue of Superman, numbered 213, scribed by Brian Azzarello. It has been edited for content.
